SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery

I woke at exactly 5:07 AM, my internal clock pulling me from sleep despite having gotten only four and a half hours of rest. My body protested the early wake-up call with a symphony of aches and pains from yesterday’s extreme training session, but it was manageable. Pain Resistance was doing its job, filtering the worst of the sensations, but the pain was still somewhat present.

Rolling out of bed carefully to avoid waking the others, I took a moment to assess my condition. My wrist was still broken, I could feel the bones grinding when I flexed it, but the acute swelling had gone down significantly overnight. My torn bicep had reformed into something resembling its normal shape, though I could still feel the damaged tissue beneath the surface. Overall, Physical Recovery Efficiency had done impressive work while I slept.

The groggy feeling that should have accompanied such little sleep was barely noticeable. Either my enhanced physical condition was compensating, or I was running on the kind of adrenaline-fueled focus that came with waking up at a good REM cycle.

Last night’s success with Pain Resistance had opened up possibilities I’d never considered before. If I could systematically develop resistance to various forms of damage, I could make myself significantly more difficult to kill. Not invincible. The dream had reminded me that death was always possible, but resilient enough that most conventional threats would become manageable inconveniences.

First, though, I needed to clean up the evidence of my previous experimentation.

The gym reeked when I opened the door. The smell of vomit and dried blood mixed with the lingering odor of sweat created an almost toxic atmosphere that made my stomach lurch. But I pushed through the nausea and got to work, using cleaning supplies from the supply closet to remove all traces of what had happened.

The blood stains were the worst part. They’d dried into dark, rusty patches that required significant scrubbing to remove completely. The vomit was easier to clean but more revolting to handle, especially when Observation picked up details I would have preferred to ignore.

It took nearly an hour to restore the gym to something resembling normal condition. By the time I finished, the room smelled like industrial cleaning products instead of bodily fluids, which was a significant improvement. I wanted to open a window to help air out the chemical smell, but Anthony told me not to risk anything so I chose not to. Instead, I headed for the shower.

The hot water felt incredible against my damaged muscles, providing temporary relief from the constant low-level pain that had become my new normal. As I washed, I found myself planning my next experiment. The goal was simple: develop as many resistance skills as possible, as quickly as possible.

My first thoughts were gunshots and poison, but one of them seemed unlikely to be achievable through training. Bullets caused damage through kinetic energy transfer and tissue destruction—you couldn’t really build up a tolerance to having holes punched through your organs.

Poison resistance, on the other hand, was definitely possible. People could develop tolerance to various toxins through gradual exposure, and I’d already proven that the System would grant skills for capabilities pushed beyond normal human limits.

Alcohol was technically a poison, and it was readily available in our kitchen. Perfect.